


Casual

by olliolli_oxenfree



Series: amatusparadeweek [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Laughter During Sex, M/M, Porn Week, more like 'laughter interrupts sex' but u do u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliolli_oxenfree/pseuds/olliolli_oxenfree
Summary: Day two of Amatus Parade Week:Scar tracing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Can be found on Tumblr [here!](http://fleetingshadowdm.tumblr.com/post/146292439026)

“This one?” Dorian asked, running a finger across a ridge of flesh on Darrell’s right side.

“Training,” he said in response. He rolled his hips up, making Dorian gasp as he tried to recall exactly _which_ training exercise had given him that particular scar. One from the fighting yard back at his childhood home in Ostwick, most likely.

“Most your staying injuries seem to be the ones you get from practice, Inquisitor.” Dorian rose, supple body still a breathtaking sight after a month of deciding abstinence was for the birds. They’d moved on from quick, fumbling fucks that saw them finished far too quickly and far too dressed for either of their liking. With the threat of Celene’s assassination no longer hanging over their heads, they had time to learn and explore one another.

Apparently, Dorian had never seen a man with scars before.

“That’s the point of practice.”

“Get hurt now so you don’t get hurt later?” Dorian bent back down to tweak his nose. “How boorishly Southern of you.” His hand didn’t leave, and Darrell felt two knuckles rub the break. “Another practice session?”

What little blood his erection could spare tinted his cheeks. “Fistfight with my sister.”

“Oh?” No man should be able to look that smug while grinding on a dick. “Did the Lord Inquisitor steal his sister’s dolls as a lad? _Tsk tsk._ The things they’ll say.”

Darrell’s flush deepened. “I wanted the same horse she did.” Might as well get it all out in the open. “We were twenty.”

“Twen—” Dorian blinked down at him, then began to laugh. A deep, throaty sound that started in the belly and tilted his head back.

“Dorian,” Darrell all but whined.

“ _Twenty_ he says,” the mage chortled. _Chortled._ “Oh, _please_ tell me she won the horse.”

“Of _course_ she won the horse. My _nose_ was _broken_.”

Dorian buried his mirth in Darrell’s shoulder, hand lightly slapping the other as though to find solidity to anchor him through this—truly—trying time. “The Lord Inquisitor,” he gasped, “lost a fistfight—over a _horse_.”

“I’d _really_ rather not talk about my twin while my cock’s in your ass.” Nice as hearing Dorian laugh so freely _was_. Dorian seemed to think his current amusement ranked higher than his pleasure. He slid forward enough so Darrell’s cock was, technically, no longer in the way of their conversation.

“What—Maker—What breed was it?”

They were _really_ putting sex on hold for this.

“An Orlesian Courser. Kendra likes riding her during estrous to distract stallions. Says it's fun watching chevaliers struggling to keep their mounts in check.”

“Is it?”

“It _would_ be if I were _riding the mare_.”

“Then you’ve invited the wrong man to your quarters.”

Darrell’s head hit the pillow with a groan. Trust Dorian to not let the _worst_ of word choices slip his notice.

“Could you not have shared the fun?”

“You don’t know the look she gets,” Darrell rolled them over so Dorian was beneath him, languid and spread comfortably atop the sheets as a king on his throne. “The mare comes from a line almost as long as our own. She wouldn’t share that horse if Andraste herself commanded it.”

Dorian let out a contemplative _hmm_ as he raised a hand to scratch at Darrell’s stubble. “You speak far too often of women with me in your bed, Inquisitor.”

“Had your fun, then?” Darrell couldn’t resist lowering his head as Dorian’s fingers roamed from his jaw to his chin.

“I’m trying to get back _to_ the fun.”

“Ah.” What started as simple recognition turned into a moan when Darrell pushed his hips forward, sliding back into Dorian and finding rhythm halfway where his thrusts met Dorian’s lifts. When he came some breathless eternity later, shoulders shaking and Dorian’s nails dragging red furrows down his back, Dorian’s name was carried on more than a whine.


End file.
